You'd Never Expect It Of Him
by And.These.Are.Lemons
Summary: Ex. "It makes you sick to look at yourself in the mirror. How could he have done that? How could you have let that happen? Well, then again, that albino was a great kisser. Oh god, what are you thinking?"   Don't judge me. Really. Please.


_Title: You'd Never Expect It Of Him._

_Disclaimer: Hetalia - Axis Powers (C) Hidekaz Himuraya._

_Summary: It makes you sick to look at yourself in the mirror. How could he have done that? How could you have let that happen? Well, then again, that albino was a great kisser. Oh god, what are you thinking?_

_GAUKEN HETALIA BECAUSE I'M A SUPERFABTASTICWONDEROUS HOOKER._

_Yeah. 'Cause I'm an Prussia/Austria whore.  
__I blame this one on my history teacher.  
She was saying how Prussia and Austria, as far as citizens go, the people would have made great friends.  
__How their personalities would have matched amazingly.  
__The Prussians who died alone, would have probably found their soul mate in Austria, or vice versa.  
I couldn't help myself. DX Don't judge me._

_EXCUSE ME GOOD MADAM,  
THIS IS SHIT.  
BEWARE.  
__Just sayin'.  
Can't say that I didn't warn you. _

* * *

There's always that one boy in every class.

He's different from the others.

He's wearing baggy clothes. His uniform barely meets school standards, but he somehow skates by with nothing less than a pitying look from teachers. His skin is deathly pale, but it always looks like that. As though it's normal. His hair is bright white, maybe a silver. It's as though he bleached it, but the light still shines off of it flawlessly. Though, he never brushes it. His eyes, a deep crimson. They look so fake, but they look so real at the same time.

It's pathetic really.

You'd never expect the boy in the baggy, dirty clothes, the boy with _white _skin, and red eyes, and white hair, to much more than invisible.

You.

You're the opposite.

Your clothes fit you perfectly. Show off your every contour, without looking too feminine. Your clothes are _exactly_ the uniform, down to every crease and fold. Your skin is pale, but it looks nice on you. Your hair is a natural shade of brown, and you brush it every morning. Your eyes may be an odd shade of violet, but you take the odd feature with grace.

You're the model student.

You sit at the front of the room, while he hides in the back.

You're polar opposites.

Though, sometimes, you find your eyes trailing back to look at him.

You find yourself sitting in your seat a little longer after the bell, only to watch him leave.

Sure, sure. You've got a girlfriend. What about it?

Are you not allowed to have a social life?

It's not _so_ bad.

You just want to get to know him.

Interesting people catch your eye, that's all.

* * *

One day, one faithful day, you hear him speak.

You didn't even think he could.

His voice is scratchy, as though he rarely uses it, or yells a lot. He also has a thick German accent. Very thick.

So thick, that you wouldn't doubt that, every now and again, he lets an "und" or an "ist" slip.

You've done it more times than you can count, and your accent isn't even _that_ bad.

After he speaks, you didn't even notice what he said. It registers to you that you weren't listening to his words, but rather his voice. He looks down at you.

"Did you hear me?" That accent is aimed at you. You sputter. You shake your head, terrified that you've done something to anger him. "I asked where you're from, fancy pants."

"Austria," You barely mutter it out before he's laughing.

"That's why you look familiar," He lets a phrase fall from his mouth in flawless German. You reply shakily. Usually, your German is better than anyone's. What's gotten into you? He speaks back, but before you can register what it means, he's gone.

_Seht ihr, Roderich_.

And you're blushing in an empty Trigonometry classroom, and you don't even care that your being late is going to anger your girlfriend.

He talked to you.

And you couldn't be more excited in your entire life.

* * *

Weeks after your last encounter, you're sitting in the same Trigonometry classroom, but he's not there. Everyone else is, but he's not. Your teacher calls on you, and hands you a pile of work.

She says that she's seen you and _Mr. Beilschmidt_ speaking. That she assumes you and he are friends. She wants to know if you need his address. You nod yes.

Now, you're blushing in an empty Trigonometry classroom again, but there's a smile gracing your lips.

You're going to his house.

And you couldn't be more excited in your entire life.

* * *

You walk up to the address. It's a large house. Three stories, at least.

You knock on the door, your backpack still hanging on your shoulder loosely.

You didn't even go home. You went straight to his house.

A large guy, about your age, blonde hair, blue eyes, he opens the door. He smiles at you.

"Roderich, I didn't think I'd be seeing you here," He's got a small Italian stuck to his side. You can only tell the boy's Italian due to his accent.

"Oh, yeah, Ludwig. I've just got some papers for your-" He cuts you off. He's not going to let you drop them at the door.

"You can take them up to him, if you like. Gilbert needs to talk to someone other than that damned bird. Second story, third door on the right. You'll know it when you see it," He smiles at you, closes the door behind you, and walks off with the Italian.

You take in the entire house. It's not as big as yours, you'll admit, but it's very large. You go up the stairs, taking each step carefully, making sure that your shoes don't make too much noise.

You reach the second floor, you take your time reaching the third door on the right. It has small yellow bird stickers on it. You tap on the door lightly. There's a rustling, and then a groan.

"Go away, West!" His voice is more scratchy than the first time you heard it.

"It's not West," You try not to sound irritated, but you also don't try to sound eager. You barely know the guy. You can't be too excited. Before you know it, the door's cracked, and there's a crimson eye staring at you.

"Lookit that. 'Sup, Roddy? You don't mind if I call you that, do you?" You wince slightly. Nicknames are horrifying for you. You get over it quickly though. You don't want to come off as rude.

"Um, I've got some papers from school for you. I don't mind." You wear this half smile that could easily pass for just plain bored. He stares at you.

"_Mien Gott_, it's Trig, ain't it?" You nod. "But, I wasn't even there to learn it! Damn," He groans again, and you start to feel awkward just standing outside of his door. "Do you think you could give me a crash course? I'd owe you, Roddy!" Now you can tell why his voice is so scratchy. He's quite loud.

"I-I guess." He opens his door wider, and you notice what he's wearing. His hair looks horrifying, his shirt is grey, just like his hair. His shorts are torn at the bottom, and he's not wearing any shoes. He looks like he died and came back to life.

"Sorry the room's such a mess, Specs! I've been sick, 'case you didn't notice." He pulls you in, and you notice that he's holding a can of beer, and that there's a pile of cans in the corner. Otherwise, the room is actually very clean.

"It's not that bad," You mumble. Your room is cleaner, of course. He sits you on his bed, and he sits Indian Style on the other end. You take off your jacket, pull his papers, and yours, out of your backpack, and leave the empty bag and jacket on the floor. You pull your legs up to sit Indian Style as well, but not before removing your shoes. You place the more simple papers in front of him, and open your textbook.

"Alright, man! Let's get class in session!" He laughs. It's this obnoxious sound that resembles a sick child snickering. 'Kesesesese!'

"Uh, where are you on Arc Length?" You look up at him hopefully, your hope falling when his stare comes back blank.

"Arc what?" He takes a long sip from his beer can, throws it to the side, and then grabs another one. "You want one?"

"Maybe later." You spend hours explaining the subject to him. You go through every method you can.

"So, since _D_ equals 2_r_ then Pi equals..." You wait for him to finish the statement, praying to got that he'd caught on. There's a painful silence before he speaks up.

"Pi equals _C_ over 2_r_...?" He waits for your confirmation, and it takes all of your power not to hug him. You let a smile cover your face, something that's rare for you.

"Exactly." You sigh happily.

"So...An angle of 1 radian refers to a central angle whose subtending arc is equal in length to the radius?" He's smiling, too. You smile even wider and nod.

"You've got it." He smiles brightly. It's the brightest smile you've ever seen.

"Dude, you're an awesome teacher! You're the first one who hasn't smacked me!" He laughs.

"Why, thank you." Somehow, a beer has made it's way into your hand, and you're drinking it.

"Do you think we could get line values in tonight, too?" He nearly begs.

"Sure, why not?" Again. You spend hours, upon hours, upon hours, covering the subject, but he catches on.

"Sin is the vertical projection of the radius, and cos is the horizontal projection, right?" You nod. You've drunk at least seven beers, and you're not sure how it happened. You and him start talking. "Hey, I've been seeing you with that Elizabeta girl. Are y'all two going out or something?"

"I wish we weren't!" What can you say? Liquor makes things slip. "She's so overbearing and needy. She's probably wondering where I am now!" You pull our your phone only to see that you have missed ten calls, and that you have twenty unread messages. Each of them from Elizabeta.

"Then why do you go out with her?" He's packing your bag, as though he's going to sit where the books are.

"Hell, I don't even know. She though she was a boy, when she was a kid, did you know that? It was hilarious. Teachers had to tell her that she couldn't use the boys restrooms, and she would have a fit." He laughs loudly. He sits where your books once were, and nudges you with his shoulder. "Hmm?"

"What?" He whistles innocently, and you push him back.

"Hey!" You bark out as he pushes you harder.

"Bring it, fancy pants!" You push him back, and it sets him to laying flat on the bed.

"I think I win." You try to sit back down on the bed, but you're swaying in your spot. He grabs you and sets you down.

"Man, your life must suck. You're going out with Elizabeta. Dude, she's hot, but she's scary. You've obviously never had beer before, which is a damn shame, and you're probably going to break Elizabeta's heart, which means she's going to break your vital regions." Both of you shudder. He sighs and lies back, staring at the roof. "Don't you ever wish you could just let loose and do something different? Do something you know you shouldn't do, but you want to do? Maybe even use it to spite some people?" You lie back next to him and find a stain on his roof that's very interesting.

"Sometimes," You laugh and he sits up. You follow him. "I should probably get going. We've got school tomorrow,"

"Tomorrow's Saturday, Specs." You shrug.

"I should get some sleep, though," As you head for the door, he stops you. He hands you your bag, and he kisses you. You find yourself kissing back, but he pulls away pretty quick.

"Now go spite someone with your act of rebellion," He laughs as you run out of the house, and toward your house. You puke in some random woman's flower bed, and then you somehow make it home.

You're laying on your bed after taking a long, warm bath and you wonder what you just let happen.

Your lips still tingle from where he kissed you. You stare at yourself in the mirror, intending to brush your hair, but instead, after studying your features, you puke again. Luckily, into a trash can. After recollecting yourself, you try again. Only to be revolted at your reflection. It makes you sick to look at yourself in the mirror. How could he have done that? How could you have let that happen? Well, then again, that albino was a great kisser. Oh god, what are you thinking?

These are the times when you wish you had parents. That you weren't different. You wish you had a mother who you could talk to. A father you could ask for advice, even though he would be enraged. Right now, you wouldn't care if your parents would hate you, you just wish you had them. For ten minutes.

Instead, you walk down your stairs and throw yourself onto the piano bench. You slam your fingers down onto the keys, enraged. How could you have let that happen? You look for an excuse.

The alcohol. Obviously.

It may not be fully true, but you believe it. Your body needs an excuse to keep functioning.

You play an angry piece, slamming keys as you go. It has to be the most emotional piece you've ever played.

Once you're done, you just sit there for a while. You think everything through. You head back up to your bed, even though you would've liked to play a little more. You know that you'd only get too angry. You'd break a key, or something.

You lay on your bed, staring up at the roof. Your first thought was from only a few hours ago. Laying back, looking at his roof. You shake your head and growl at yourself. Your phone vibrates on your bedside table.

It's a message from Elizabeta. You groan, and press "view".

_"What were you doing at that damn German's house?"_

You groan again. So she was watching you. Great.

You press the "reply" button, and write your answer out slowly.

_"I was helping him with Trigonometry." _

You aren't lying. For once, you didn't lie to her. She answers almost immediately.

_"Then why were you there for six hours?"_

You get it now. She's jealous.

_"He didn't get it."_

You wouldn't dare tell her that she's jealous, nor would you snap at her. She's terrifying, but she's on your last remaining nerve.

_"Oh my god, Roderich! You ditch me to help the damn German with Trig?"_

In your head, you can hear her yelling.

_"Prussian."_

You don't think until you've sent it. There's no taking it back now. You've corrected her, and you're not going to her the end of it.

_"Roderich, I don't know why I deal with you! I hate you!"_

You find it funny that she isn't having this conversation with you over the phone. You don't answer her message. You're too tired. You intend to go to sleep, but she calls you.

Like the good boy you are, you answer.

"Hello, Roderich speaking," You're smirking. You're so out of character. What's wrong with you?

_"Don't 'Roderich speaking,' me! I swear to god- I hate you!"_

"Then why are you calling me, Elizabeta? If you hate me so much?" Where has this confidence come from? She seems taken aback as well.

_"Wh-What's happened to you? You're horrible! That damn German has ruined you! In one evening!"_

"Prussian," You correct her again. You've already done it once, and it felt good.

_"I don't care where the hell he's from! He's ruined you! What did he tell you? Did he drug you? What happened?"_

"He brought some facts to surface," You can't believe yourself. You can't believe that you're answering to her. "That's all."

_"Dammit, Roderich! Why did I ever waste my time on you?" _She sniffles, but you don't feel bad for making her cry. _"I loved you!"_

This is where you fall silent. You know it's a lie, and you hate it when people lie. It's a pet peeve of yours. If she loved you, she would know that.

"Of course you did," You sigh. "I'm assuming since you used past tense, you're breaking up with me?" You're smiling on your end, but you're trying to keep it out of your voice.

_"U-Unless you want to stop me! I don't see why I should even give you the chance!" _

"Then don't," You hang up. And you smile.

You've taken what he's done, and you've spited someone with it.

And she didn't even know that you were kissed by him.

That he kissed you.

That you kissed back.

That you _liked_ it.

That you went to bed thinking of him, and not her.

* * *

You wake up to the vibrations of your phone.

You expect it to be Elizibeta, but it's not.

The name that shows up underneath the message icon is just a heart. You stare for a moment, and then open the message.

_"Have you spited anyone yet?"_

And now you're blushing in your empty bedroom, and you know exactly who the message is from.

_"Maybe..."_

You lazily text back. There's no need to rush.

_"And how did that go?"_

You smile.

_"I think it went particularly well."_

You notice how nicely you type. You notice how you spell every word exactly. You need to get a life, you think to yourself.

_"How angry was she when you told her?"_

You don't answer now. You spend at least five minutes thinking of how to say that you didn't tell her. That she basically did it to herself.

_"You didn't tell her, did you, Specs?"_

You sigh.

_"No. She self destructed on me."_

You can almost imagine him laughing.

_"That's amazing!" _

You hear more of his laughing in your head, though it seems louder this time.

_"You know, it really was..."_

You reluctantly agree with him. It's not like she's going to know.

_"Improud of you, yknow/" _

You stare at the message. It confuses you. You don't understand why his typing is sub-par. Then, there's a knock on your third story window. You see his face, and that damn smile is plastered to it. You almost laugh, but you know better.

Now, you notice that you've been staring, and you hurriedly open the window.

"What _are_ you doing here?" You're staring at him as his brushes leaves from himself. He leaves one, unintentionally, on the top of his head. You think it's quite adorable.

"The real question is: What are you doing at home on a Saturday?" He smiles at you, and looks you over. "Dude! It's like two in the afternoon! Change! Wear your-" He pauses. "Wear some jeans and a t-shirt. You do own jeans, don't you, Specs?" You sigh, and smile back at him.

"Of course I do." You change as he tells you, and he makes himself at home on your bed. You leave the bathroom to find him lounged there. Rolling on your sheets.

You'll have to wash those.

"You better never wash those sheets! They're covered in my awesome!" You sigh.

"Of course they are." He grabs you by the wrist and leads you down the stairs, and out of your house.

As you turn around from locking your door, he kisses you. You sputter and blush horribly.

"Look, don't think of me as some sap or anything, but I like you. Now that you're not going out with Elizabeta, I don't fee- It's not awesome to do this to a guy with a girlfriend." He's looking at the ground, and you're looking anywhere but his face.

You sigh, and understand what he's saying.

"I guess I like you, too." And now he's smiling up at you. "And I thank you for your morals."

"Awesome!" He kisses you again. "Oh, by the way, I'm taking you to the carnival in town! Just thought I'd let you know." Before you can tell him how terrified you are of roller coasters, you're already strapped into his car. He's got his arm around your shoulders as he drives, and you feel good.

You don't feel guilty.

You don't feel sad.

You don't feel scared.

You feel happy.

You feel safe.

You feel loved.

So, you're in love with the awkward kid with red eyes and white hair.

That's something, not even you would expect of yourself.

* * *

_WOW. I'M AMAZED THAT YOU GUYS LOVED THIS SO MUCH. MASS THANK YOUS ALL AROUND, BBY. (Just in case I don't reply to your review...)_

_Okay, well that was eventful._

_Excuse me, did you think I died? _

_I think I did._

_I don't really recall._

_THIS IS HORRIBLE, BTW._

_I HATE MYSELF. A LOT._

_OHGOD. WHAT HAS THE WORLD DONE TO ME! DX_

_I blame high school applications. _

_I really do._

_Well, I'll be back to normal pretty soon. Sooner or later, I'll be on a break of some sort. In March..._

_OH. I'LL BE AT ANIME MATSURI. :3 AIN'T THAT GRAND? _

_You guys better be going too, ya know. _


End file.
